


Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo

by imafriendlydalek



Series: A Holsom Tale of Love and Hockey [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (except Ransom really likes kugel), (though their religion is not really relevant to the story), Foursome - F/F/M/M, Friends to Lovers, Hook-Up, Jewish Character, Justin "Ransom" Oluransi is a Delicate Coral Reef, Kegsters have a way of getting these two in trouble, M/M, Multi, Muslim Character, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Holster, Oblivious Ransom, Sharing a Bed, Thanksgiving, there's a scene in the beginning where they hook up with two girls but it's all Holsom from there, this fic is basically an ode to the city of Buffalo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: buffalo, transitive verb: bewilder, baffle; also : bamboozleBuffalo, noun: hometown of Adam BirkholtzIn which Holster and Ransom accidentally kinda have sex the day before they drive up north together for Thanksgiving Break. Oops.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% born from the fact that Holster is from Buffalo and I miss Buffalo like the flower misses the sun in winter.  
> Many thanks go to orbingarrow for cheerleading/handholding/enabling.  
> There's one more chapter to this fic, which I will post next week. Then there will be a sequel which is almost half-written because I can't leave well enough alone and folding ships into canon is totally my jam. So that'll basically be Check Please from Holsom's POV? IDK. These two idiots have taken over my life.

“Hey Bits?”

“Yeah, Holster?”

“How’d you know you were gay?”

Bitty put down his pie crust cutter and turned to face Adam, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter.

“I don’t know, Adam.” There was a defensive edge to Bitty’s voice. Shit. Not what Adam had been aiming for. “Probably the same way you knew you were straight.”

Adam let out a groan as he pillowed his head in his arms on the kitchen table. “That doesn’t really help me,” he murmured.

A warm hand ran over his shoulder a moment later before giving it a light squeeze. He heard a chair being dragged over the floor next to him, followed by the warmth of Bitty’s body as he draped himself around Adam. “Something on your mind, hun?”

Adam sighed, not bothering to lift his head. He wasn’t sure if he could get the words out if he was looking at someone - like that might make it _real_. 

“I kinda had sex with Rans.”

***

“Hey Shits, you got a minute?”

Shitty was sprawled out across Lardo’s bed, his head dangling off the edge and his feet propped up against the wall. At least he was wearing boxers - full frontal male nudity was probably more than Justin could handle at the moment. Shitty exhaled deeply, a puff of smoke swirling through the air before dissipating, and lifted his head lazily. “Yeah, what’s u-”

Shitty stopped mid-word, snapped his mouth shut, squinted at Justin and somehow managed to twist-sit-up-hop-to-his-feet like a cat falling out of a third-story window.

“Ransom. Brah.” Shitty’s hand settled on Justin’s shoulder. Justin briefly contemplated squirming away, retreating to his room and pretending none of this had ever happened, but then Shitty broke out in the broadest grin Justin had ever seen and pulled him in for a crushing hug. “You have come to the right place, my friend. Seriously, brah. Fourth person this year.” Shitty’s hand stroked over Justin’s cheek. “Tell me everything. Or nothing. Either way, I’m here for ya, dude.”

***

“So, I’m ready to go if you are?” Adam lingered on the fifth step of the stairs leading to their shared attic room, peering through the banister towards their bunk beds. 

Ransom was sitting on his bunk, flipping through an old issue of Dude’s Health. Despite Shitty’s lobbying about the magazine’s promotion of unrealistic ideals and overpriced wristwatches, the Haus still had a subscription - no one really knew who V. Fahrvergnuegen was and old rosters didn’t list anyone by that name, but the magazine came for him every month. And since they never got an invoice, it was generally accepted in the Haus that it was “a gift from the gods of high-gloss publishing who want us to be able to read all about workout tips we don’t need because we already have killer abs and to see pretty pictures of pretty guys” (Bitty’s words). 

“Yeah, sure,” Ransom replied, closing the magazine quietly and climbing down from his bed. He grabbed his bag without a word and trudged past Adam down the stairs. He said nothing aside from a quick goodbye to the teammates who hadn’t left for Thanksgiving yet, and the silence stretched on as they got into the Jeep, he pulled out of his parking spot, turned up the road, merged onto the highway. 

Adam fiddled with the tab on his jacket’s zipper, not sure what to do with himself. They’d never been this quiet together. They usually had to be seated far away from each other during team meetings because they never shut up, for heaven’s sake, and here they were, a seven-hour car trip ahead of them in a rattling Jeep, and … nothing.

***

Kegsters were always a raucous affair at the Haus, though the kegster before Thanksgiving break was often slightly more so, with people keyed up about going home to their families for the holiday. For some, it would be a great meal with the people they cared about most. For others, it meant close proximity and forced civility with people they disagreed with on a fundamental level, like Racist Uncle Fred or Judgy Grandma Edna. Either way, emotions ran high at Thanksgiving kegsters, and that always meant one thing: easy hook-ups.

Holster had gotten a head start towards intoxication, having earned the first keg stand by scoring an unexpected goal against Cornell earlier that day, but Justin was well on his way to catching up. They were both pleasantly buzzed when Chelsea and Drea wandered over and, well, this was a play Justin and Holster had practiced many times before.

Sharing a room with his best friend was swawesome 99% of the time, and bunk beds were pretty much the greatest thing ever invented, with one major exception: simultaneous hook-ups.

‘By all means, you go first,’ Justin signalled to Holster, speaking with his eyes.

‘Nah, man, you go ahead,’ Holster insisted wordlessly.

Neither had anticipated the third option, which was both girls dragging them upstairs at the same time.

“Alright, yeah, we can do this, sure,” Justin said, mostly to convince himself, as Drea pushed him against the bedframe and started lapping at his ear while Chelsea and Holster made out a few feet away on the beanbag chair.

“Good,” Drea sighed before catching Justin’s mouth in a kiss. God, she kissed like the world was ending, and it was all Justin could do to keep up.

Until he heard a moan from the other side of the room that definitely was not of female origin. His brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up and remind him that there are things you can’t ever un-see, because his eyes were already open and _holy shit_. Holster’s head was thrown back, exposing the long line of his neck. His glasses were askew and his mouth curled in a smile of pleasure at the brunette head in his lap.

 _Fuck_ was all the thought Justin could muster as every single nerve in his body fired at the same time, sending a tingling down his spine and straight to his--

“You like that?” a voice whispered in his ear, and it took a second for Justin to register that he’d stopped kissing Drea, was sitting on Holster’s bed watching his best friend get his dick sucked, and had a raging boner.

“Fuck,” he groaned, regretting it instantly when Holster’s eyes opened at the sound and their gazes met.

“Aw, fuck,” Holster whined, bringing up his arm to cover his face.

Chelsea pulled off, a grin on her face as she wiped the corner of her mouth. She looked at Drea, who nodded back at her. 

“You know, boys, if you want…” Chelsea started, pushing herself up to her feet and crossing the room to where Justin and Drea were. She settled in Drea’s lap, leaned over to kiss Justin _very_ thoroughly ( _'holy crap I just six-degrees-of-separation kissed Holster’s dick'_ ) and then Drea before continuing, “We could just make this one big party.”

Justin blinked. First at Drea and Chelsea, who were now making out with each other, then at Holster, who was tucking himself back into his pants as he crossed the room.

For the first time since freshman year, Justin could not tell what Holster was thinking.

And that bastard didn’t say anything either, just leaned down so as not to hit his head on the bunk as he reached out, wrapped an arm around Chelsea’s waist, and started kissing the crook of her neck.

Justin watched as the three of them took turns kissing, touching. Watched the way Holster’s lips curved around Chelsea’s neck, pink against her dark skin. Watched as Holster beside them on the bed - the girls between him and Justin, _thank god_. It was Drea who reached out for Justin, tugging him over by the collar of his shirt, and then she was kissing him again. Her hands were on him, on his thighs, his arm, his abs, his dick. 

He didn’t bother to stifle his groan of pleasure that time as Drea - nope, Chelsea, he realized when he ventured to open his eyes - pressed just a little bit harder, right on the border between good and too hard but actually absolutely perfect. He let himself bring his hand up to tangle in her long curls, the other running down Chelsea’s back, cupping her butt. Chelsea scooted back so she was in his lap, grinding against him, and he pulled her closer, his arm around her stomach. She leaned her head back against Justin’s and Holster leaned forward to kiss the curve of her neck.

It was intoxicating, so many bodies so close, all of them caught up in the moment. This was the epitome of sexual fantasy, right? Two girls at once? Yeah, most people’s fantasy probably didn’t involve another guy, but Justin and Adam weren’t just normal friends. Holster as almost like an extension of Justin - they were so close, sometimes it was hard to tell where Justin ended and Adam began.

Which is maybe why it didn’t feel weird when Adam’s hand brushed over Justin’s thigh as he moved to push up Chelsea’s skirt, or when Justin was the one to help Adam out of his pants as they tangled around his ankles. They saw each other naked all the time - no big deal, right?

Any deeper thought was pushed out of Justin’s head anyway by the sight of Drea and Chelsea, both now topless, in front of him, by the feel of Drea’s skin under his fingers, the sound she made as he eased her back onto the bed and let his lips wander over her body, the way she arched when he licked over her clit. He was vaguely aware of movement to his right as he went down on her, sounds a bit deeper than the ones coming from Drea, but he wasn’t going to let it get in the way of his enjoyment.

Drea shuddered beautifully as she came, pulled Justin up for a long kiss. “Hmmm,” she purred, her eyes dark, her fingers trailing over his back. “Good job.”

“Thanks, I try,” Justin chuckled and licked his lips.

“Hmm, fuuuck,” a low voice next to them groaned, a sudden reminder that they weren’t alone in the room. In the bed, for that matter. Just inches away, Chelsea was straddling Adam, her back arched as she rode him.

Drea prodded Justin in the stomach. “You should kiss her,” she instructed, shifting to lean back against the wall so she could watch.

Justin hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Chelsea to open her eyes and beckon for him to come closer. He did.

She kissed like fire, fiercely, determined, moaning slightly into his mouth.

‘Because she’s fucking your best friend,’ Justin’s traitorous brain reminded him. ‘Right next to you.’

And then his cerebellum had the audacity to make him open his eyes and turn his head to look down at Adam, whose eyes fluttered open at that very moment. Adam smiled.

A sudden surge of _want_ rolled through Justin, settling right in his already achingly hard dick.

“You should kiss him,” Drea was saying - Justin wasn’t sure to whom.

Adam’s eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as his hand came up to settle around Justin’s neck, pulling him down - _wait, what?_ \- and then his lips were on Justin’s, soft and warm and wet and _ohmygod_. Hands were on Justin’s body - Drea’s? Chelsea’s? Adam’s? Justin couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes to find out, too wrapped up in the overwhelming fact that he was making out with _Holster_ and it was amazing. He groaned against Adam’s mouth as fingers wrapped around his dick; Adam let out a groan of his own in response. The hand on his dick started to move, just the right amount of pressure. Justin let his hand wander over Adam’s torso, taking in the way his abs tensed as he fucked up into Chelsea, and it was hot, it was intense, and Justin wasn’t going to last long.

Chelsea came with a high-pitched shout, followed quickly by Adam. It was the low rumble in Adam’s chest, the way his body tensed as he came, pressed up against Justin, that sent Justin over the edge, coming in streaks over his own chest.

“Fuck,” Adam groaned, his head slumped back against the mattress. His chest rose and fell as he panted, just that side of out of breath. “That was … fuck.”

Chelsea leaned forward, kissed Adam, then Justin, then Drea. “Yeah.”

She slid off of him, and the sight of Adam pulling a condom off his dick was going to be seared in Justin’s memory forever.

Adam stood in front of them, half-hard and naked as the day he was born, as casually as if they were in the locker room after a game. “Dude,” he said, wiping at his thigh with a t-shirt. “I think you got come on me.”

He tossed the t-shirt at Justin. It hit him in the stomach. It was Justin’s shirt.

That’s when it started to sink in to Justin, the reality of what had just happened.

He’d just made out with Adam. For all intents and purposes, they’d just had sex (the fact that they hadn’t actually touched each other seemed fairly inconsequential, given the circumstances). 

How does one go back to being friends from that?

***

“Tim Hortons!”

Ransom’s exclamation was so sudden, so piercing in the silence that Justin almost swerved off the road.

“What the fuck, dude.”

“Tim Hortons! We gotta stop. Next exit!”

“Seriously? We have to pay to get off the thruway, and then again to get back on.”

Ransom glared over at Adam, crossing his arms menacingly. “Tim. Hortons.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile. What a dork. “Yeah, okay. Tim Hortons.”

Besides, at least he’d said _something_. They’d been driving for three hours without a word spoken beyond a brief exchange about stopping for gas and it being Adam’s turn to drive, followed by Ransom pretending to sleep in the passenger seat. If the price for getting his friend back was Timbits, Adam would happily buy a whole tub full.

And it worked. The Canadian coral reef had been restored and Ransom was smiling again as they sat in the swiveling plastic chairs of the rest stop’s sitting area. And more importantly: he was talking. He was chattering on about seeing his sisters again, about all the ways Timmy Ho’s was better than Dunkin, about how much Bitty would probably kill him and/or never bake for him again (which amounts to the same thing, really) if he admitted that Timbits were still his favorite.

“Hey, you got a little-” Ransom interrupted his rant to reach out, stopping himself before he actually touched Adam’s chin. Instead, he brushed his fingers over his own bottom lip. “Some cinnamon.”

Adam wiped his hand over his face. “Thanks, man.”

***

Justin felt much better after their stop, fueled by sugar and pumpkin spice, and was ready to take over driving again. Conversation was flowing once more, which was a relief, even if it remained superficial.

It wasn’t until they pulled off the thruway and were just a few minutes from Holster’s neighborhood that Justin finally worked up the balls to speak up.

“Hey, man, about the thing yesterday…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Holster interrupted before Justin could say what was on his mind. “It was just… heat of the moment, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Justin lied.

“We were drunk.”

“Not that drunk.”

“Well, yeah, not like, too drunk to consent or anything. But, like, not quite making rational decisions. You’re my best friend in the world, Rans. I wouldn’t want to trade that for anything.”

Right. Not even for…? Justin didn’t even let himself finish that line of thought. Clearly whether he might or might not have really liked what had happened and wanted to try it again because he thought there might really be something there was irrelevant if Adam didn’t feel the same.

“Yeah, same, bro. Same,” Justin said instead, gripping the wheel tightly as he turned onto Adam’s street. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“Home sweet home,” Adam muttered as they pulled up outside the Birkholtz residence. He turned to face Justin once the Jeep was parked, his hand already on the door handle. “Hey, you’re still coming down for Thanksgiving, right?” 

Justin blinked. Did Adam not want him to come? Had he changed his mind because of what happened? No, it didn’t look like it - his eyes were wide and warm, the way they were when he was being earnest. 

“Yeah man, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Adam beamed at him. “Swawesome.”

***

Justin drove down again from Toronto soon after breakfast five days later, on the day before Thanksgiving. They’d made plans weeks ago to hang out the day before - “Dude, Thanksgiving Eve is legit the biggest party night of the year. Everyone’s out, there’s like twenty-five bars all in walking distance from each other - it’s like a kegster across the whole city. You _gotta_ come down for it,” Holster had insisted. Justin had never actually seen any of Buffalo besides the area around the Birkholtz house, so he was looking forward to hitting up some of the places Holster kept raving about. And if his heart rate picked up a little at the thought of seeing Holster again, it was just because he missed his friend (he told himself). 

“Hey, you made it!” Holster greeted him loudly as he jogged up to Justin’s car. 

He must have been watching from the window with his shoes on already to get there so quickly. Justin decided not to read into that any further as Holster pulled him into a bear hug as soon as he was out of the Jeep.

“It’s not that far, you know,” Justin replied, chuckling into Holster’s hair. Was it weird to think your friend’s hair smells really good?

“Ransom!” Justin’s favorite of the Birkholtz sisters, Rebecca, came barreling towards them from the house, her shoes falling off her feet, and launched herself into their hug. “You made it!”

“It’s not that far!”

“Yeah, but you need, like, a _passport_ and everything! Plus the traffic on the Peace Bridge always sucks.”

“I took the Rainbow Bridge,” Justin replied with a shrug as he extricated himself from the tangle of Birkholtzes.

“Good choice, bro,” Holster acknowledged with a nod. “If you gotta wait in traffic, at least go where there’s a nice view. Speaking of which,” he said, his tone changing to Hockey Shit mode, “you stay put, I’ll grab my coat and let’s get our Buffalo on!”

“Please tell me that’s not a thing people say here,” Justin said to Rebecca as Holster turned and jogged toward the house. Buffalo had some weird-ass slogans, he’d noticed (“Buffalo. For Real.” What the fuck?! And what even is an ‘All-America City’?), so he wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

Rebecca laughed, hopping from one foot to the other as if that would help against the cold. “Nah. Don’t give anyone any ideas, though.”

Holster came back with his coat and Rebecca headed inside - “Go, before you freeze to death!” - and a few minutes later, Justin and Holster were on their way downtown. Holster was already listing all of the places they were going to eat and the things Justin had to try.

“I thought Thanksgiving was _tomorrow_ , eh?”

“Rans, dude, the stomach is a _muscle_. It needs training. Besides, I would be remiss in my civic duty as a Buffalonian if I didn’t take you out for wings. It’d be like if I came to Toronto and we didn’t have maple syrup.”

Justin blinked at Holster. “I don’t think that’s even allowed. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the questions they ask you at the border crossing - ‘did you consume maple syrup, sweet nectar of the gods, during your visit to Canada, eh?’ I don’t think they let you leave if you say no.”

That earned him a laugh and a smile from Holster, the kind of smile that softened toward the end and, if Justin hadn’t had to look away because watching the road is important while driving, might have morphed into the kind of Meaningful Gaze they’re always giving each other in those rom-coms Holster loved so much.

“That’s how we are with wings here.”

***

“Told you so.”

Ransom had just taken his first bite of real Buffalo wings and was groaning in ways that were teetering on the edge of inappropriate-in-public. 

“Fuck, dude. It’s like trying Bitty’s pies for the first time. Like, I didn’t know what good was until…” Ransom took another bite, his eyes rolling as he chewed. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to eat Buffalo wings anywhere else again.”

“Welcome to my world,” Adam said with a smirk as he fished another wing out of the giant bowl between them, dunked it in blue cheese sauce and took a huge bite. He looked around the restaurant as he chewed. You’d think there wouldn’t be too many people going out for chicken wings the day before Thanksgiving, but you’d be wrong. They took wings seriously in this town.  
It was an unassuming place - just a crumbling white stucco facade over a squat single-story building on the corner of a busy intersection, but they had the best wings in town, without any of the commercial pretenses of some of the other wings places. 

“Fuck. I kind of hate you right now for this. Like, all other wings are ruined for me forever. Also, my face hurts.” Ransom wiggled his lips around in an effort to lessen the lingering spiciness. When that didn’t help (it doesn’t, as Adam well knew), he took a long gulp of his loganberry soda. He grimaced as he set the cup down. “This stuff is awful.”

“It grows on you.”

“Aw man, I feel like I’m gonna have a food baby,” Ransom declared after they’d finished lunch. “I am so full. Like, if Jack were here, he’d totally be judging us for our nutrition choices.”

“Luckily, I have something planned for us to help with that. Zimmermann-approved,” Adam supplied, pushing open the door to the restaurant and gesturing for Ransom to step through.

And judging by the way Ransom’s eyes lit up when he saw the huge outdoor ice skating area built over the old canals at Harborfront, it was a good plan. Adam watched with a smile as Ransom did a few laps before turning around to look for Adam.

“Hey man, you gonna skate with me or you just here to watch?” 

It was a nice day, one of those cold-but-not-too-cold winter days where the sun actually came out, glinting off the windows of the buildings, the golden dome of City Hall, the waves of Lake Erie, and the few smooth patches left on the ice. And what made it even better was that he got to share this day with Ransom. They’d taken a bit of a detour through the city to get downtown - Adam had made sure to include a stop at the creepy old asylum building that was said to be haunted. As predicted, Ransom has gone completely still and glared at Adam.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts!” he’d insisted, even if his body language said otherwise. 

Adam was glad that The Thing at the Kegster (as he was referring to it in his head) hadn’t driven a wedge between them and they could still hang out like this. Whatever else he hoped might develop was secondary to their friendship, Adam had determined.

He finished lacing up his rental skates quickly (it felt weird not to be wearing his own skates, kind of like driving someone else’s car, but they’d left all their hockey gear back at Samwell) and stepped out onto the ice. Adam loved hockey more than anything in the world, but it felt really good to just skate for fun, for the sake of skating. 

“Bitty would be so proud,” Ransom said as Adam came out of a spin. 

Adam wanted to reply, “Your smile is enough for me,” but he was a coward, so instead he just grinned back and said, “Where do you think I got these sweet moves?”

Which of course prompted Ransom to show off his own sweet moves, which turned into them trying to one-up each other, gaining a bit of an audience in the process. Someone even pulled out their phone and filmed them, Adam noticed, and made a note to scour Twitter for videos of “hockey bros attempting figure skating.” Hashtag clutzesattemptinglutzes. Hashtag notverygoodatthis. Hashtag alsoprobablyinlovewitheachother.

They were both pleasantly exhausted after skating, but Adam had one more stop planned for them. A new pro shop had opened at the hockey center and Adam had been itching to go ever since he’d heard about it. Judging by the way Ransom’s eyes lit up as they stepped inside and he looked around, it was well worth the detour.

Ransom had been going on and on about the new CCM sticks for months, so they made a beeline for the back of the store, where sticks lined the wall. 

“I wonder if they’ll have any Black Friday deals tomorrow?” Ransom muttered, rubbing his thumb longingly over the shaft of the stick in his hands.

That wasn’t at all… distracting… 

“Yo, Birker, that you?” 

Adam was suddenly jarred out of his wandering thoughts by a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. He turned to see Gage Holohan headed towards them. Gage’s family lived up the block from the Birkholtzes, and the two of them had been teammates in peewee. They’d been best friends as kids, but as they’d gotten older and Adam had gotten more focused on hockey as Gage started to dabble in things like smoking weed and cutting school, it had been pretty clear that they didn’t have much in common. They hadn’t kept in touch after Adam had left for Waterloo.

“Hollow-man! Hey man, what’s up?” Adam stood up to give Gage the standard hand-clasp-forearm-to-chest-bump-shoulder-clap bro-hug.

“Not much, man. Just workin’.” Gage gestured around the store. That was when Adam noticed the polyester uniform shirt Gage was wearing, a nametag pinned to his chest. He had a beard these days, and Adam was pretty sure he spotted a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. Guessing by the way the shirt stretched around the belly area, he probably wasn’t playing much hockey anymore.

“Oh, cool. Sweet gig.”

“Yeah. You home for Thanksgiving? Heard you were playing for Samwell these days.”

“Uh, yeah. This is Ransom, by the way.” Adam gestured toward him, and Ransom offered a half-wave. “Teammate. We’re co-captains,” Adam added for good measure.

“What’s up, man,” Gage said with a nod towards Ransom. “I saw a video of one of your games on YouTube once. You guys are pretty good.”

Adam huffed out a laugh. Final Four was a little better than “pretty good,” but he decided to let it slip. “Thanks, man, we try.”

“Musta been awesome, playing with Jack Zimmermann.”

“He’s a great guy,” Adam replied with a shrug.

“You guys lookin’ at sticks?” 

“Ehhh, just looking for now. Kinda broke at the moment,” Adam explained. Gage hung around, talking them through the different sticks they had in stock. He offered to ‘hook a bro up’ when Adam was ready to buy, and also they should keep in touch, “grab a few beers sometime.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Adam said, fairly certain he would not actually be in touch. As much as he loved coming back to Buffalo to visit, he was pretty glad to have that part of his life behind him.

“Old friend?” Ransom asked, bumping his shoulder against Adam’s after Gage had left. He looked up at Adam, his eyes warm.

Adam exhaled and turned his gaze to the sticks. “Yeah. He was, like, my best buddy when we were kids. It’s weird, seeing him working here. Like one of those ‘what if’ episodes where the screen like shimmers away and we see what could have happened. If I hadn’t gone to Waterloo, if I hadn’t gotten the scholarship at Samwell. If I’d given up hockey. That coulda been me.” 

He carefully didn’t add, “I wouldn’t have met you.” Instead, he ran his fingers over the sticks on the display rack as he said, “I mean, fuck, I love Buffalo, but I’m so glad I got out.”

He looked over to Ransom, who was smiling. 

“Me too, man.” Ransom’s smile morphed into a grin before he added, “I mean, I’m glad you got out. Toronto is the shit, man. This place is ... just shit.”

“Blasphemy! It is not!” Adam protested, grabbing Ransom in a neckhold and rubbing his hair with his knuckles just how he knew Ransom hated.

Ransom grabbed hold of Adam’s arm to free himself, slipping out of Adam’s grip. “Oh Canada, we stand on guard for theeee!” he sing-songed (terribly off-key) as he ran out of the store.

They headed back to the house after that for a nap before the evening’s festivities. Adam didn’t have a room of his own at his parent’s house anymore - his middle sister, Sarah, had claimed it for her own after he’d moved away for juniors and she’d gotten sick of sharing with Abby, the youngest - so he stayed in the basement rec room when he was there. There was a couch that folded out into a decent-sized bed, and usually sharing that with Ransom wouldn’t have been an issue since they’d lost any concept of personal space somewhere around their third week of freshman year. But with the giant pachyderm in the room they were resolutely Not Talking About, it suddenly felt tiny.

Adam didn’t get a lot of rest that afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

Justin was glad for the very specific training he had gotten from three years of frat-house life, because Holster clearly hadn’t been joking when he’d said that Thanksgiving Eve was like an all-out kegster. There must have been hundreds of people out that night, just making their way from one bar to the next. It seemed like there was a whole neighborhood of bars, one after the other, each with a different vibe. They’d been to six bars already and weren’t even halfway through the pub crawl Rebecca and her friend Tina had plotted out for them. Buffalo took its drinking seriously, clearly.

“This is going to huuuuuuurt tomorrow,” Holster groaned as he knocked back a shot of tequila.

“Here,” Justin said, holding out a lemon wedge. He regretted it instantly when Holster leaned down to chomp it out of his hand, any distance they’d put between each other gone the moment his lips brushed over Justin’s fingers as they closed around the lemon.

“You guys are so weird,” Rebecca giggled somewhere behind him. 

Holster shot Justin a wink practically oozing with innuendo as he took the lemon wedge out of his mouth and dropped it into the now-empty shot glass. Justin carefully ignored the way his stomach fluttered. While the awkwardness between them from the car ride had faded during the afternoon, replaced by that familiar easy friendship Justin valued so much, something else was going on here. There was a glint in Holster’s eye that gave it away, that told Justin that Adam hadn’t completely written off the events of the kegster. A glint that sent Justin’s heart rate soaring.

Didn’t help that Adam looked _good_ tonight. He had a dark green sweater on with a wide v-neck that’s totally not distractingly tantalizing. His jeans, which usually scuff on the floor because it’s hard to find pants with enough room for hockey butts that aren’t too long (even for giants like Adam), were rolled up at the cuff - Justin was 97% positive that was Rebecca’s doing, because Holster is many things, but fashion-aware is not one of them.

“So,” Holster said, stepping closer so they could hear each other over the music, “how’re you liking Buffalo?”

Justin barely had time to nod before the song changed and Holster started jumping up and down.

“I love this song!” he shouted. He bumped against Justin as he bounced, caught him with an arm around the waist as Justin started to fall backward. “Sorry! I gotcha!”

Their eyes met, and quickly Holster straightened again, his arm slipping off Justin’s back. Justin missed the touch instantly.

“Got a little too excited there. Sorry.”

“Come on, you guys, let’s dance!” Rebecca called, taking Holster and Justin’s hands to drag them towards the dance floor. Holster shot him a grin as he started to move with the music - Justin recognized it as one of the few non-Beyonce songs Bitty had treated them to an early-morning performance of. Pink? Probably Pink.

 _Fuck it,_ Justin decided and joined them on the dance floor. 

It was crowded, and while Justin was doing his best to keep a bit of distance or one of the girls between them, somehow he always found himself bumping into Holster. Holster, who was a surprisingly good dancer, moving almost as smoothly as he did on the ice. Justin had seen him dance plenty at various kegsters and other campus events, but it was still surprising, considering how clumsy Holster usually was. Justin couldn’t help but watch, slightly awed, as he moved with the music. 

“You know, you’re a really good dancer,” he leaned in to shout into Holster’s ear over the thumping music.

That earned him a smile, and Holster shifted just a bit closer. Their knees bumped. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

The song ended, another came on but they kept dancing, lost in the movement. Rebecca and Tina had moved on, Justin vaguely processed, probably off getting new drinks or finding dance partners of their own. Honestly, the bar could have been empty for all Justin cared.

Holster looked down at him and put a hand carefully on Justin’s hip. Justin allowed himself to lean into the touch, edged around so their bodies were properly facing each other - just two bros dancing together, right? 

_No reason to freak out,_ he told himself.

Except then Holster pulled him closer, their legs brushing against each other as they danced, his hand still on Justin’s hip. With the other, he lifted Justin’s arm, draping it around his neck as they grinded into one another.

Justin looked up to meet Holster’s gaze, who smiled back warmly. He leaned forward- “Hi,” he breathed into Justin’s ear. “This okay?”

Justin just nodded - words were beyond him right then. He really didn’t care that they were in the middle of a crowded bar, in plain sight, as he curled his fingers around the nape of Holster’s neck. Holster seemed to take it as the encouragement it was and leaned forward, his hand coming up to cup Justin’s cheek as he kissed him.

It was as if the music had stopped, everyone around them had disappeared, and all that was left in the world was Adam Birkholtz.

 _That’s all I need_.

Their romance movie moment was cut short by someone bumping into them, jostling them apart. 

“Sorry du- oh,” a guy in a Bills jersey said, his demeanor shifting from apologetic to disdain when he realized what he’d just interrupted.

Justin felt himself squaring up in full Defenseman Mode; next to him, Holster was doing the same, standing at his full impressive height. It seemed to work, because the Bills fan took a few steps backward before turning around and hightailing it out of the bar with a string of muttered curses (and possibly slurs).

“Well, that was… not fun,” Holster exhaled. His head snapped toward Justin and he reached for his hand. “I mean, the guy. Not the… you know. I liked that. You wanna get out of here?”

Justin nodded. Holster scanned the bar, presumably looking for his sister. Justin spotted her and Tina were dancing with some guys a few feet away, seemingly unaware of what had just happened, and pointed in their direction.

Holster went over to let his sister know they were leaving, and Justin was left standing alone. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, his thoughts creeping back into his head. Heck, he wasn’t even sure what had just happened.

“Come on, Uber’s on the way,” he told Justin when he reappeared. He brushed his fingers over Justin’s elbow as he led them towards the exit.

It was cold out, jarringly cold, and it had started to snow. (What was it about Buffalo and snow? There had only been a few patches here and there up in Toronto, still too early in the season for anything significant. But it seemed like here, the whole city was already buried under a snow drift, with piles of gray snow pushed up along the curbs and icy puddles just waiting for unsuspecting pedestrians to slip on them.) Justin tugged the collar of his coat closer.

A few steps ahead of him, Holster stopped when he reached the edge of the curb and turned. His mouth quirked with a half-smile when his eyes settled on Justin. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. That tone was new. Justin liked it. Holster reached out to pull the edge of Justin’s toque down over his exposed ear, brushed his knuckles carefully over the stubble on Justin’s cheek. “You alright?”

Justin had been holding his breath, he realized. Not in a deep-sea-diver-oxygen-is-superfluous way, but in the I’m-too-on-the-edge-to-breathe-properly way. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Yeah. Just … just a lot to take in, eh?”

Holster nodded. “Yeah, I feel ya.” A hand slid around Justin’s waist. “Is it okay if I kiss you again? I- I really want to kiss you again.”

“Yeah, definitely okay.” A niggling voice in the back of Justin’s mind said ‘what if the Bills fan comes back with his buddies?’, but another countered that it couldn’t be worse than the LAX bros or the Quinnipiac goons, and him and Holster always made quick work of those guys. 

He pushed down both voices and decided instead to focus on Holster’s lips against his, the way his fingers dug into Justin’s back through his coat, the rush of blood in his ears from his heart pumping overtime because _Holster was kissing him again_.

“I like this,” Holster admitted when they pulled apart again.

Justin smiled, looking up at Holster through his eyelashes. “Me too.”

“Didn’t like that Bills guy, though.”

How does one respond to that? Geez, five minutes of being not-straight and they’re already dealing with assholes. Nothing they can’t handle, but still… what the fuck.

The cab ride back to Holster’s house was way too long. Just long enough, in fact, for doubts to start creeping in again. Did Justin really want to put their friendship on the line for this? What even was this? Was it just a bit of fun, a new thing to try out? Was this the infamous college experimentation phase? What if they woke up and decided they didn’t really like it after all? Could they still go back to being friends after that? What if only one of them decided that, but the other… Justin didn’t even want to finish that thought, since he was sure that if one of them decided he didn’t like it, it definitely wasn’t going to be him.

He looked over to Holster, who was resting his head against the window. The lights of the cars driving by reflected in his eyes, left little highlights in his blond hair. His fingers were twisting the fringe of his scarf, an idle movement he probably wasn’t even conscious of. Justin longed to touch him, but with the middle seat between them, he was too far away to make it look casual.

Yeah, whatever this was between them, it was definitely not just a sex thing for Justin.

***

Adam could sense Ransom’s gaze on him, and he lifted his head from the window where he’d been watching his former hometown slide by to look over at Ransom.

In an A+ metaphor kind of way, Justin symbolized all the ways Buffalo was no longer Adam’s home. Samwell was where he was happiest, where he could pursue his ambitions and goals (haha literally). Where he could be himself. And in a weird way, he felt the most “himself” when he was with Justin.

Adam reached out to take Justin’s hand in his, a warm sense of relief flooding through him when Justin beamed at him.

After what felt like ten years, they finally pulled up outside the house. It was late enough that everyone else had gone to bed, which was a relief. Adam didn’t think he could handle talking to anyone right then.

“Soooo,” he said when they were downstairs, the door shut behind them and two floors between them and the rest of his family. His heart was pounding in his chest - now that they were finally alone together, now that they had finally established that they both liked kissing each other, he had no idea what to do.

“So,” Justin replied. He closed the space between them in a few long strides and reached out. His fingers curled around the bottom hem of Adam’s shirt, brushing over Adam’s skin as they tugged at the shirt.

Adam sucked in a breath at the touch. “Your fingers are cold.”

Justin pressed harder as he slid his hands up Adam’s sides and over his back to settle on his shoulder blades.

“Possibly because it’s about minus ten out.”

Adam huffed as he raised his arms so Justin could tug his shirt over his head, helping with the last bit. “Please, it’s like twelve degrees. That’s practically shorts weather. ‘S long as they’re not salmon-colored.”

Adam couldn’t help but preen a little at the way Justin’s eyes darkened as they trailed down Adam’s exposed torso. He stepped closer and brought his hands to Justin’s cheeks, cupping his face.

“This is real, right? We’re gonna do this?”

Justin swallowed. He looked up at Adam, his eyes warm, a slight crinkle around the edges. 

A happy sigh escaped Adam as Justin pressed a kiss to his lips, soft but determined.

“We’re gonna do this,” Justin confirmed, mumbling against Adam’s lips. “But, uh, maybe we should define what _this_ is?”

Adam moved his hands to Justin’s belt, tugging at it to get it open as he walked them towards the sofabed, pressing kisses into the side of his neck. He still couldn’t quite believe that he could do this now. “I, uh, I kinda want to get you naked and get my hands on you. I- I’m not sure I’m ready for anything more than that.”

Justin let himself be pushed down onto the bed easily. “Yeah, that- that sounds good. Me too, I think,” he said as he shimmied out of his pants and boxers. 

Adam sucked in a breath at the sight of Justin lying on his back in front of him, naked and hard. He cocked a half-smile.

“Justin Oluransi, look at you.”

“Well I’d say the same for you, bud, except-” Justin gestured towards Adam’s pants.

“Oh, right.” Adam quickly slid his pants off, granted Justin a second to take in the sight before he settled on the bed next to Justin. He curled himself around his friend, propped his head up on his left elbow as he trailed over Justin’s body with his right hand.

“This alright?” he whispered into Justin’s ear, nuzzling into the soft skin on the side of his neck while his fingers swirled over Justin’s chest, his abs (he suddenly appreciated all those long hours of training for hockey a hell of a lot more).

“Mmm-hmmm,” Justin hummed, turning his head to catch Adam’s lips for a kiss.

It was hot and it was slick, and it was tender and it was rough (in the way that girls were soft and didn’t have stubbly faces, though Adam was a little surprised to find that the hint of scruff actually made it hotter). It was all-together new, the firm press of muscles as they pushed against one another, the feel of a dick that wasn’t his own in his hand, the way Justin moaned as Adam stroked him, pressed back against Adam and - holy shit - Justin’s ass cheeks slid over Adam’s dick.

“This okay?” Adam asked, his voice ragged.

“Fuck, yes,” Justin ground out as he pushed back against Adam, and that was possibly the hottest sound Adam had ever heard.

He pulled Justin closer, their bodies flush against each other, Adam’s dick achingly hard against Justin’s ass as they ground into one another. 

“God, this is…” Adam started, his mind blanking as Justin fucked up into his hand. 

“If you say swawesome, I will actually murder you.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh. He buried his forehead in the dip of Justin’s shoulder; Justin’s body shook lightly as he chuckled.

“Gah, I hate you,” Justin huffed.

“You do not.” Adam tightened his grip slightly as he continued to stroke Justin.

“Fuck. No, no I do not. Fuck,” Justin groaned, his eyes falling shut again. “I’m gonna, fuck, I’m so close, Adam.”

Hearing Justin use his actual name unleashed something in Adam, and he suddenly wanted more. He wanted to see Justin come, wanted to see Justin come _because Adam had made him come_ , and he wanted Justin to make him come.

It wouldn’t take much at this point.

“Come for me, Justin,” Adam whispered in his ear as he pressed closer against Justin. 

Justin let out a groan, and all it took were a few more strokes as Adam lapped at his earlobe, ground up against his ass, and Justin was coming in spurts.

“Adam!” he cried out. His chest heaved as his dick sputtered the last few drops.

Adam couldn’t stop looking. He’d just made Justin come. Ransom had come in his hand, shouting Adam’s name, and Adam _liked it_.

So, definitely not entirely straight, then.

“Adam?” Justin shifted to look at him.

Adam blinked when he realized he had spaced out, and leaned down to brush a kiss against Justin’s collarbone.

“Shit, Rans, that was really hot.”

Justin huffed out a quiet chuckle at that. “Thanks? Do you, uh, do you want me to…” His eyes swept down to where Adam’s dick was pressed against his side.

Adam flashed him a broad smile and rolled onto his back. He spread his arms as an invitation. “Weeellll, if you insist…”

His nonchalance was a complete act, of course. On the inside, his heart was beating a hundred miles an hour at the thought of Justin’s hand on his dick. And when Justin reached out, curled his fingers around Adam’s dick and started stroking, Adam feared it might give out.

Adam half-rolled over onto his side, Justin behind him, their bodies slotted into each other perfectly. It didn’t take long; a couple good long strokes as Justin sucked at the nape of Adam’s neck, a hint of teeth - _fuck,_ there was a kink Adam hadn’t known he’d had - and Adam was coming in streaks across his own chest, on Justin’s hand.

“Dude, I think you got cum on me,” Justin murmured into Adam’s shoulder, though he made no move to wipe it off. Instead he shifted so he was on his back, Adam half-lying on top of him, the fingers of his clean hand tangling in Adam’s hair.

“Geez, Rans, I wouldn’t have guessed you were a biter,” Adam chuckled.

Justin nipped at his neck. “‘M not, usually. I just-” he placed a kiss on Adam’s neck, sucking softly “-I like the way your neck feels? If that makes sense?”

“What about it do you like?”

“I like that you don’t have long hair that gets in the way, and that I can feel the muscles under your skin, and I like the way you taste.”

Adam chuckled. “Alright, from now on I’m stealing Becca’s shower gel every day. Come on, let’s get cleaned up so we can sleep. I’m beat.”

“Yeah you are,” Justin joked as they disentangled their limbs. “Badum-che.”

Adam wiped himself off with his t-shirt and tossed it at Justin. “That was awful, man.”

Justin made a face at the sticky shirt but wiped himself off with it anyway. “Not even sorry.”

***

Justin woke up with Adam’s face smooshed into his shoulder, Adam’s arm draped across his chest. He took in a long breath, exhaled slowly. 

He was happy, he realized, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He brushed a kiss over the top of Adam’s head.

Adam stirred at the touch, his eyelashes fluttering. “Mmmm?” he groaned. “Time is it?”

Justin looked around - his phone was still in his pants pocket, somewhere on the floor across the room. There was light coming in through the basement window from outside, though, and he could hear movement upstairs. “No idea. Daytime. We should probably get up. Sounds like everyone else is.”

“Mmm, Mom starts cooking real early on Thanksgiving.” Adam made no move to get up, instead he shifted closer into Justin. He was hard.

“Seriously?” Justin chuckled.

Adam nipped at Justin’s shoulder. They hadn’t bothered to get dressed - Adam had barely managed to take out his contacts before they’d fallen asleep curled up around each other. It was a new feeling for Justin, who usually preferred to sleep in pajamas pants and a t-shirt, but the slide of Adam’s skin against his was well worth it.

“ADAM! JUSTIN! GET YOUR LAZY BUTTS UP!”

Anything that might have been about to happen was ended by very sudden, very loud knocking on the basement door and Adam’s father’s voice.

Both of them sprang to their feet and dove for their clothes - there was no lock on the door. Adam’s eyes were wide with worry when Justin caught his gaze as they each tried to pull on their clothes as quickly as possible, stumbling in the attempt. 

Was it general fear of being caught in a compromising state of undress by one’s parent, or specifically of being caught in a compromising state of undress with someone of the same sex? Justin couldn’t tell.

It seemed moot, though, when footsteps upstairs indicated that Mr. Birkholtz was not actually coming down.

Adam flopped back down onto the bed, breathing out a dramatic “Phew.”

Justin pulled his shirt over his head. “Come on, Holster, we should go help.”

Adam groaned. “Okay, fine, but only because I know that there will be kugel.”

“What’s kugel?”

Adam lifted his head and stared at him, his mouth gaping. “You don’t know what kugel is?”

Justin crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Adam. “Is this another one of those ‘You weird Canadians, don’t know totally normal things’ things? Cuz you didn’t know what a two-four was, so I think we’re pretty even on that front right now.”

Adam was laughing as he pushed himself up off the bed again and shouldered past Justin, pulling on clothes on his way to the stairs. “Nope, it’s one of those ‘you have no idea what you’re missing, you gentile’ things.” 

Right. Their religions were such a non-issue at Samwell, sometimes it was easy to forget that two guys like them, even if they were both non-practicing, would never be allowed to be friends in other parts of the world (never mind the more recent developments in their relationship).

Adam clomped up the steps two at a time. “Ransom doesn’t know what kugel is!” he announced as he pushed open the door, which was followed by surprised responses from various Birkholtzes.

Justin palmed his face, lingering at the top of the stairs. This boy was going to be the death of him.

“How can you not know what kugel is?” Abby asked, feigning shock, when he came into the kitchen, where the entire Birkholtz family was gathered.

“My family is Nigerian!” Justin threw his hands up in the air. “Bet you guys have never had puff puff,” he added indignantly.

Adam was smirking at him as he tried to sneak a deviled egg from the appetizer tray his mother was arranging. She swatted his hand away with a warning glare and pushed him down onto a chair, then put a bowl of potatoes in front of him.

“Peel,” she ordered. “You too, Justin. Make yourselves useful,” she added with a smile.

Justin crossed the kitchen toward the empty seat near the far wall. He passed behind Adam on the way, which was when he saw it.

Apparently Rebecca had to, because she was sputtering her coffee, her eyes wide as she looked from Adam to Justin to Adam.

Justin said a silent thank you to the gods of genetics that he didn’t blush, and prayed that no other Birkholtzes would notice before he could find a subtle way to tell Holster to put on a polo shirt or something.

 _Fuck,_ he must have gotten a little too enthusiastic last night.

“So,” Rebecca asked, “you missed some fun last night. After you guys left us, Tina dragged me to the Litterbox and guess who we ran into?” 

Holster looked up at her, a question in his eyes. 

“Katie MacFarland. Apparently she likes girls now.” Rebecca took a long sip of her coffee and casually tugged the collar of Holster’s t-shirt up a little, then patted him on the shoulder as she passed on her way out of the kitchen.

***

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Adam hissed under his breath at Ransom as they took their seats for Thanksgiving dinner.

“I tried! But there was always someone around and I thought you’d seen it when you took a shower!”

“How could I have seen it? It’s on the back of my neck!” It was only when Rebecca had dragged him into the other room and shown him a picture she’d snapped with her phone of the giant red and purple _bite mark_ on his neck that Adam had become aware of the problem, no thanks to his supposed friend (and the culprit). (His traitor sister had also high-fived Ransom, so she was totally not getting anything for Hanukkah from Adam, like ever again.)

Ransom shot him an impish grin as he helped himself to mashed potatoes. “Popped collars are so 2002.”

“What else am I supposed to do?! You practically mauled me!”

Ransom leaned in as he scooped mashed potatoes onto Adam’s plate. “Didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“Adam, dear, close your mouth,” his mother said from across the table (thankfully too far to have overheard). “And don’t whisper. What are you two conspiring?”

“Oh, just a play we’ve been working on. For the team. Hockey.” Adam winced innerly at his words. Ransom, that traitor, was hiding a grin behind his hand, so Adam kicked him under the table.

“This food all looks so delicious,” Ransom said. At least he was trying now, by changing the topic, to show some solidarity for Adam’s predicament. Which Rans had put him in. “I’m excited to try the kugel.”

That was enough to get his mother off his back, and the topic of conversation turned to the food. Compliments were paid to the various dishes - the sweet potato casserole that Aunt Marsha had brought, Uncle Cas’s mushroom stuffing, the cranberry relish. And of course, the turkey.

“Oh! We didn’t say what we’re thankful for!” Abby practically shouted. It was a long-standing tradition in the Birkholtz family, though it was usually done at the beginning of the meal. Their dad always started, then clockwise from there.

“I am thankful that I am allowed to be a part of your Thanksgiving celebration,” Ransom said when it was his turn, leaning back in his chair. Adam tried and failed at not getting distracted by the way Ransom stroked over his own stomach, the memory of seeing Ransom spread out in front of him the night before flashing through his mind.

“Well, it’s great that you could come. It can be hard, deciding whose family to go to for holidays,” Adam’s mother replied. It almost sounded like she was implying that he and Ransom were a couple. That was… odd.

Ransom seemed either to not pick up on it or not let it throw him off as he shrugged and sipped his cranberry spritzer. “Well, our Thanksgiving was weeks ago, so no conflict there.” 

“Yeah, fake Thanksgiving,” Adam muttered around a mouthful of dinner roll. He shot Ransom a grin for good measure.

“Ex- _cuse_ me, Adam, but we have been celebrating Thanksgiving for longer than you American copycats. Plus, having it earlier means we get to put up our Christmas lights sooner.” 

The entire Birkholtz family blinked at him. Ransom might not show a blush, but Adam could absolutely tell when he felt uncomfortable.

“Holiday lights,” Ransom corrected. “I mean, we don’t really celebrate Christmas in my family either, obviously, but you gotta admit, the blinky lights are pretty much the best part of the season.” 

Adam shrugged and nodded in agreement. “Dude’s got a point,” he conceded. 

“Your turn, Adam,” Rebecca said as she shot him a knowing look.

Adam was so screwed. 

“I am thankful that I have such a loving, supportive family-” he glared pointedly at Rebecca before turning to Ransom “-that I get to be part of such a great team, and for the best friend anyone could ask for.”

Yep, there is was again, the invisible-but-totally-there Oluransi blush. 

***

“So what do we do when we get back?” Holster was fiddling with the heating vent, flipping it open and shut.

It was Sunday, and they were on the Mass Pike somewhere outside Springfield. Justin had driven back to Toronto after Thanksgiving dinner very happily full, with a tray of kugel - his new favorite food - on the passenger seat and instructions from Mrs. Birkholtz to come back anytime, and his heart singing from a stealthy goodbye kiss behind the Jeep when Adam had walked him out. Of course they’d maintained the usual near-constant texting in the group chat and just between the two of them over the days that followed, but that had mostly been the usual light-hearted banter. They hadn’t really had a chance to actually _talk_ , and again they’d managed to not address the topic for most of the trip back to Samwell.

They had had a pretty epic classic rock sing-along, though.

“Bitty’ll probably make dinner,” Justin said, his eyes trained on the road as he reached over to swat Holster’s hand away from the vent.

“ _Not_ what I meant.”

“What _did_ you mean?”

“You know. About _us_.”

Justin sighed. There was a pause before he replied, “I don’t know. What do you want to tell the guys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well then. Good talk, bro.”

“I mean, we don’t really have to say anything, right? We were, like, practically dating before anyway, just without the … you know…”

Justin grinned and glanced over. What a dork. No wonder it took them so long to figure out this attraction between them. “You can’t say it, can you?”

Holster glared. “The fucking. Without the fucking. We’re fucking now. Uh, right?”

Justin raised an eyebrow at him. “One could say that. I’d like that,” he added.

“But, is that, like, all we are? Just friends who fuck?”

Justin gripped the wheel a little tighter as a BMW whizzed past them. “I don’t think I am equipped to have this conversation while driving 70ish miles an hour in Massachusetts traffic.”

“Fair enough.” A few minutes passed; Holster scrolled through Facebook on his phone, singing along with the radio, then he stopped abruptly. “I told Bitty. Before Thanksgiving. About us. Well, about the thing. The kegster. I’m sorry. I was just... kinda freaking out. You know, cuz you’re my best friend and cuz you’re a _guy_ and I’ve never been into guys before and I didn’t know what that meant and normally I would have come to you to talk about life-changing revelations and shit, but, you know...”

Justin glanced over to see Holster looking at him sheepishly, apprehensively. He offered a reassuring smile. “I told Shitty.”

“So I guess not telling anyone is not really an option, huh?”

“Yeah, probably not.”

“Aw fuck,” Holster groaned. “We are gonna be so broke from all those fines. Like, broker than the City of Buffalo.”

Justin reached over to take Holster’s hand in his. A flush of happiness surged through him at the smile that spread across Holster’s face. Geez, he was so gone for this idiot. “So broke. Totally worth it, though.”

“Aw, Ranssssss,” Holster whined, pulling his hand free to take off his glasses and wipe at his eyes. “You can’t just say shit like that. You know I cry quick.”

“Sorry-not-sorry, bro.”

“I’m kinda worried about Bitty,” Adam announced a few minutes later, seemingly out of the blue. When Justin glanced over with a questioning look, Holster continued, “He’s been so quiet lately. Closed off. _Subdued_.”

Justin nodded. “There’s been fewer pies, too. Which is unusual this time of year.”

“Yeah, like a few weeks ago I was eating some Chips Ahoy and he didn’t even judge me. He _ate one_.”

“Wow. Do you think maybe he’s being bullied or something?”

“I don’t know. I just- I want him to feel like he can talk to us about stuff? Like, no matter what it is, we’ve got his back. Unless he’s thinking of transferring to Brown or something. Then he’s dead to me. Fuck the Ivy League. Elitist assholes.”

Justin let out a laugh as he checked his blindspot, then switched to the left lane to overtake a slow-moving Hyundai. “Yeah, I’ve seen his GPA. That’s definitely not happening. Maybe we should tell him, you know, about us? Maybe it’ll help him open up to us about whatever’s eating at him?”

Holster nodded to himself. He was chewing on his bottom lip. Yeah, like that wasn’t distracting or anything.

If he was about to reply, it was cut off by the radio.

“Aw, fuck yes!” Holster whooped, turning up the volume when Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love” came on, signalling an epic Ransom & Holster duet, with Justin singing the female voice and Holster as Meatloaf.

“What actually is it that he won’t do?” Holster asked during a lull in the song.

“I think the chick sings it in like the last line - ‘Sooner or later you’ll be screwin’ around’,” Ransom cooed.

“But I won’t do that,” Holster sang back at him. He took a deep breath and belted out, “Oh no! No, I won’t do that!”

Justin rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his fond smile. “No, I won’t do that!”

***

“I’ve never been in love before.” 

It sounded more like a statement of facts than a confession of feelings, so Justin tried to ignore the sudden spike in his heart rate. Instead, he turned his gaze from the Modern Family marathon they were in the middle of to the blond head resting in his lap.

A few weeks had gone by since Thanksgiving. A lot had happened since then, there had been some rough patches but it had all served to do one thing: It had solidified Justin’s knowledge that this was where he wanted to be, that this was the person he wanted to be with. It was a bit overwhelming to think about sometimes, the idea that his future was becoming clearer, that this part was set, and Justin had definitely had a few “coral reef bleaching” moments, as Holster put it. But Holster had been there, had stayed by his side as he’d cowered in the library during midterms and dragged him away from his desk to get some sleep when he’d been staring at the same sentence for too long. And that was it, really: Through everything, Holster had _been there_.

Holster twirled the string of his Samwell hockey idly between his fingers as he spoke. “I mean, there was never really time, with hockey and school and everything. Mostly hockey. I mean, I’ve had plenty of lovin’, if ya know what I mean-”

“Oh, I know.”

“-but it was never _love_.”

Justin wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he waited for Holster to continue.

“I always figured it would just happen, like I’d meet a girl somewhere and we’d fall in love and make out in the rain or whatever and it would be awesome. So I guess I never really was looking for it? But I think, kind of, actually, in a way I wasn’t looking for it because I already had it?”

Holster looked up at Justin, who smiled as he ran his fingers through Holster’s hair. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Justin said, not bothering to hide the warmth of emotion in his voice.

“Good. I’m glad. I gotta take a leak,” Holster announced after a moment. He swung his legs off the couch and pushed himself up, squeezing Justin’s shoulder as he passed. “Good talk, bud.”

Justin watched as Holster disappeared through the doorway. “Yeah, good talk,” he called after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, the song they dance to at the bar is Raise Your Glass by Pink, which always gets me jumping.

**Author's Note:**

> A hundred million Awesome Points if you can guess the places Holster takes Ransom to on their tour of Buffalo!
> 
> Stay tuned for the sequel, in which these two idiots navigate having a relationship in a frat house funded by fines...
> 
> I am also imafriendlydalek on tumblr. Come say hi!


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